The First Rule of One Night Stands
by Kay the Cricketed
Summary: Part Two up! [CD SLASH, malemale] A present for Duck-K. Christopher wakes up, but who's the lucky "goddess" next to him? It's not like he can remember, after all. Meanwhile, Jalil is being courted and chaos ensues in its usual form.
1. In Which Surprises Hurt Candlesticks

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The First Rule of One Night Stands

_

By Kay 

Disclaimer: Attempted to steal the series. Failed miserably. Will hunt KA Applegate down and tell her, "All your Jalil are belong to us." May not succeed, though. 

Author's Notes: YAY! Happy birthday, Miss Andrea! ^_^ It's Duck-K's very, very, VERY late birthday present-please enjoy. I'm so sorry it's so very late. But Jalil was crying because I've been neglecting him for Harry Potter fanfiction- 

Jalil: I was not! ;_; 

It's okay, love. I understand. ^_^ So please enjoy, Miss Andrea, and I love you! I was going to upload it when I finished the entire thing, but in the end, I decided to do it by parts as it's turning out so much longer than I originally thought... ^^;; Besides... you sounded like you needed some cheering up after reading that goddamned awful Marriage quote crap. Grr. 

Anyway. Christopher/David SLASH, that means homo-sex-uality! Takes place after the end of the series, probably a year or so afterwards. 

~~~~~ 

_ The Rules of a One Night Stand _

Rule 1: When desiring a one night stand, always plan it ahead of time. 

~~~~~ 

    The party was in full swing, and Christopher had beer. 

    Over in the left corner, he could see a group of multicolored nymphs giggling and pressing themselves against random party guests. For a second, he was tempted to join them, but the impulse was smothered by the fact that he was just too comfortable to move. The chair he was sitting in should've been illegal. Honest. It was _too_ nice, too squishy and pleasant, and he could just lay back and sip his beer, and watch people make idiots out of themselves without revealing he was just as drunk-- 

    Oh yeah. 

    Life. Was. Good. 

    "I think half of Everworld came to this," April yelled loudly in his ear. She made a wide, sweeping gesture with the glass of mead some random Greek boy had shoved into her hand earlier that evening. Christopher grinned at her. 

    "Only half?" 

    "Okay, so three fourths. I mean, look at all those people!" 

    "I think most of them are Merlin's buddies. Except not old," he added, taking another satisfied swig of ale. Some random Viking had assured him earlier that it was, without a doubt, one of the best brews to ever grace the world. Christopher wouldn't go that far, as he knew for a fact that Guinness was better, but had to grudgingly admit that it was, actually,_ really_ good beer. 

    Honestly, he was only on his second glass and the room was already spinning. 

    "Well, he's an ancient wizard. He has to know a lot of important people," April said absently, her green eyes scanning the crowd. "Have you seen David and Jalil? I lost them about an hour ago. Merlin wanted to introduce them to a few of the Celtic gods he managed to scrounge up. Something about making strong ties and new allies over a few pints… letting them win a few card games…" 

    "Yeah, I haven't seen 'em since." Christopher considered, tilting his head and studying the mass of people in front of them. The entire party was being held in Daggermouth's largest room, a high-canopied ballroom of sorts that stretched far above even the heads of the many gods who had chosen to attend. Candles glimmering with magical lights were strung across the soft yellow walls, cheerful against the night sky peeking through the windows. All in all, it was a beautiful effect, and the hazy atmosphere wasn't really helping his mind become any more sober. 

    All in all, he didn't really care, either. 

    "I hope everything's going alright," April was saying pensively, biting her lip. He shot a look at the redhead, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. 

    "They'll live for an hour without you, I think." 

    "I wanted to meet the Celtic gods, too," she retorted irritably, looking slightly put out. "Just because David's a General guy, and Jalil can make pretty sparks with wires, doesn't mean they should get to meet everyone… damn it. I can be just as helpfuless!" 

    "Helpfuless?" Christopher repeated. He shot her an incredulous look, ignoring the sweet bliss of drunkenness for a moment. "Are you smashed, April?" 

    April scowled at him, but her face was red. 

    "You are trashed," he said gleefully, vindictive pleasure rolling over him in happy waves. "Good job!" 

    "Oh, shut up, Christopher." 

    He noticed the clenching of her fists, and wisely, decided to do so. There were only so many things he could do to piss April off before she either decked him, or in some cases, made particularly cruel shots about his love life. The latter was far worse, of course, and he'd rather avoid hearing about the Roman girl who'd turned him down just a week ago in favor of a satyr with a bad case of fleas. 

    Some people had no taste. 

    "I think David decided to lurk in the corner," he said instead, grumbling slightly under his breath. "Some goddess of corn or something kept hitting on him and asking to see his sword." 

    "Ah." 

    "You going to look for him?" 

    April wrinkled her nose, appearing to consider it. Her eyes scanned the crowd again, huffing slightly at the mass of people talking, laughing, and attempting to dance. "I don't know if I want to risk it." 

    "Afraid of those Greek gods?" Christopher asked, leering. 

    "And lechers. Like you." 

    "Ah, but you sit next to the greatest lecher of them all. How lovely," he drawled, taking another sip of brew. He waggled his eyebrows at her over the rim of the mug. She rolled her eyes. 

    "Whatever. You're right, I'm out of here. Gonna track down Merlin and give him a piece of my mind about feminine rights and the Senna Falls Convention…" she mumbled, stumbling only slightly as she got to her feet. "Do us all a favor. When you're trying to be lecherous? Don't let Etain see you. She nearly took a nose dive into some disgusting bath water last week because you smiled at one of the servants." 

    Christopher scowled heavily at her back as it began to weave through the crowd. 

    "Gee, thanks, that's a real mood picker-upper," he snarled under his breath. He had beer. And a party. And a squishy, overly comfortable chair. The last thing Christopher wanted to think about was a certain, beautiful half-elfish princess. 

    It was disturbing. Ever since her marriage to King Baldwin, Etain had been rather difficult to handle. On one hand, she claimed she and Christopher were doomed to live their lives as "mutual allies and tender friends" until the dwarf-dude died. On the other hand, however, she was throwing suicidal, overly dramatic fits every time he tried to flirt with someone of the opposite sex. 

    It was actually starting to go from flattering to extremely annoying. 

    "Do I look like I'm her property?" Christopher demanded of the chair beside him. He took another deep drink of beer, noting sadly that it was almost gone before he turned back to the immobile furniture. "At this rate, I'll won't be having sex until I'm forty-eight. Christ." 

    "No, but you're named after him," a dry voice interjected, plopping down next to him in the very same chair he was talking to. 

    "Jalil, you just sat on my new friend." 

    The mocha-skinned scientist paused, a perplexed expression crossing his face. He stared at Christopher. "What?" 

    The blonde sighed. "Nevermind." 

    "… fine." Jalil glanced at him sideways, dark eyes flashing with curiosity and amusement. "Have you been sitting here, talking to yourself the entire time?" 

    "No, you just missed April." 

    "Ah. April the real April, or April the hallucination of your alcohol imbibed mind?" 

    "No. Real April," Christopher muttered darkly, taking another sullen drink. It emptied his glass, and he glared at it in disgust. "She's mean. I don't like her right now." 

    Jalil chuckled. "Sorry? Look, I didn't come over here to chat…" 

    "You're mean, too." 

    "No-it's not that. It's just… look, I've been talking to one of these Welsh mythological gods, and I promised I'd show him the library here. Except I don't want to leave David at the party alone." 

    Christopher peered up from his glass, wrinkling his nose. "General?" 

    "Yeah." Jalil grimaced, partly in bemusement and partly in an attempt not to snicker painfully. "One of the knights apparently mocked his sword technique, and he's been tossing down glasses of mead ever since. I've been trying to keep an eye on him to make sure no one carries him away or--or whatever--but I'd like you to do that for a while, if you're not too drunk to handle it." 

    "We have a library in Daggermouth?" Christopher wondered aloud, ignoring everything that was just said. Jalil narrowed his eyes at him. 

    "What, you thought I've been spending most of my time lurking in the dungeons or something?" 

    "It occurred to me." Actually, it hadn't. 

    "Screw you. And look, just do me this favor, okay? Baby-sit David for just a while." 

    "You're going up to the library with a Welsh god?" Christopher asked dubiously. "Is that safe?" 

    "Christopher!" 

    "I just don't think it's a good idea. He might… I don't know. Molest you with books or something," sulked the blonde. Jalil flashed him a scornful, 'You're Too Moronic' look. 

    "Just go keep David out of trouble, okay? We need our General in one piece, you know, if we want to win the war." 

    "General. Trouble. One Piece. Got it," Christopher affirmed sagely, attempting to nod and getting mixed up in the end. He looked down, surprised to find another half-empty glass of beer in his hand. "Um. When'd that get there?" 

    Jalil gave an impatient sigh, standing to his feet. He reached out with a skinny, wiry arm and hauled Christopher up by his collar with a shocking strength. The blonde stumbled up, clutching the mug of ale tightly so it wouldn't spill all over him. 

    "Just go," the mocha-skinned scientist said firmly, shoving him towards the end of the room. "He's drowning himself in mead in the far corner. Don't let anyone drag him off, and take him back to his room if he passes out." 

    Part of Christopher wanted to say something scathing and bitter, probably about not being the General's keeper or something. But he took one look at Jalil's face, plainly describing a threat of bodily harm if he didn't comply, or something worse like taking away his beer, and decided it was in his best interest to obey. Snatching another pint off of a tray some pretty Roman thing was carrying, the blonde began to stumble his way through the crowd towards the farthest, most shadowed corner. 

    "Damn pushy bookworm people, and damn sensitive Generals…" 

    Had he known what would happen, he would have told Jalil to shove his Welsh god straight up his-- 

_ ~~~~~ _

Rule 2: When waking, no matter who's in bed with you, do not panic. 

Do not panic. 

~~~~~ 

    The morning sun was burning him alive. 

    Christopher let out a muffled groan, shoving his head under his pillow. "Grrfffmnn… shut it off…" 

    Okay, some bastard with a vindictive streak left him laying in what felt like his own bed, sans the usual blankets. In fact, he realized with a twitch, he had nothing _on_, either. So he was a miserably _naked_ person without blankets. So kind of cold. Damn castle drafts… and he thought it wasn't so bad until this winter thing had come along… good grief. 

    And someone had turned on the sun at about a million and one watts. 

    Life. Was. Hell. 

    "S'too early for light," he muttered darkly, attempting to smother himself with the limp pillow. "Garfnnff." 

    Something was poking him in the ribs, too. Christopher scowled to himself, feeling the pains of a hangover creeping into his head and cheerfully knocking against his skull. It was almost enough to make him wish he'd never drink again. Almost. Instead, he decided it must have been worth it at the time-although he couldn't remember the time to clarify it-and shoved back at whatever was digging into his side. 

    It groaned. 

    _'Oh. Oh shit. Well, that's new.'_

    Okay, he had to remain calm. Christopher was almost wide awake now, frozen with his head buried under the pillow. He slowly took stock of his situation again. In bed. Morning after party. Massive fucking hangover. Smell of cheap alcohol and sweat in the air. No blankets, utterly naked, backside definitely getting frostbite. Someone next to him-- yeah, he could hear them breathing now, taking deep and slow breaths of air-- who seemed to enjoy shoving their bony little elbow into his diaphragm, and therefore bruising it forever. 

    It could only mean one thing. 

    He so_ totally _got laid. 

    _'I got laid, I got laid!'_ his mind gleefully sang, shoving any pangs of headache away with its power. _'Who hasn't gotten turned down for a satyr now, huh, April? Oh yeah, I got laid, and it wasn't even Etain… maybe a goddess. Yeah, that'd be cool. I got laid by a goddess! I just had sex-SEX-with a goddess!'_

    She groaned again, deep and troubled, before smacking her elbow into his side again. Christopher took it cheerfully. 

    "Good morning," he mumbled dreamily to himself. Okay, he definitely had sex. He could feel it. The sparkling, tingling sensation of renewal. The pleasurable satisfaction in his mind, soul, and body. The fact that he was incredibly naked, and in bed with another person, and resisting the urge to put his arm around her. This was good. This was definitely good. 

    Christopher pushed the pillow off of his head, tousling his golden hair into disarray. He shook it madly, combing it back with his fingers. After doing so, he peered curiously at the heap that had stolen his blankets sometime in the middle of the night, seeing only a dark shock of hair peeking out of the top. 

    "Hmm, not a blonde, but not bad," he muttered to himself. He propped up on an elbow, nudging the mass of covers. "Hey, um… lady. Miss. M'lady. Whatever. You awake?" 

    Another muffled groan, followed by a 'ignoring you, sleeping now' sort of snort. 

    "Hey, that's cool. Just checking." 

    A long pause ensued. 

    No matter how long Christopher wracked his brain, he couldn't recall anything from the night before. He remembered some of the party, and something about a chair being his newest best friend, but the rest was scraps. Something about Etain, and then something about libraries and Welsh people. Something about good beer and mahogany eyes that were nice, and looking at him blearily, and looking even nicer. Something about stumbling back to his room and tripping over shoelaces, and-- 

    But nothing of a name, a face, an identity. 

    Christopher chewed his lip, studying the pile of blankets suspiciously. Surely he hadn't slept with Etain. That would've sucked. She'd throw a fit and toss him out of the castle, probably, if her husband didn't. Besides, she had lighter hair than that. More like cinnamon than the burnt caramel that this person sported. Not near as husky and deep a voice, for sure. 

    Okay, so not Etain. A goddess, probably. 

    Christopher grinned to himself. 

    Entertaining himself with the idea of immortality with a sexy woman and servants, he reached forward to pull down the blankets covering the face of his mysterious lover. Surely a one night stand could last longer? If she was a goddess and pretty enough, even his slowly fading love for Etain might not keep him here at Daggermouth… 

    "Morning, beautiful la--" 

    Christopher blinked. 

    Frowned blankly. 

    Pulled the blankets down some more, revealing the short mahogany hair, the strong chin, and graceful eyelashes that were sitting on an all-too-familiar face. Sloping nose, dark and brooding eyebrows, pale neck and rather pretty lips. 

    He gaped at David Levin's sleeping face. 

    Although his brain had shut down, and his reactions were slow and muddled, Christopher did what any self-respecting, supposed-heterosexual would do. He screamed, threw himself out of bed, and knocked a random candle holder over onto the floor. 

    That. Was _not_ a goddess. 

_ ~~~~~ _

Rule 3: Treat your newest lover with a gentle courtesy and appreciation. 

Do not throw them out. 

~~~~~ 

    "GET THE HELL OUT OF MY BED, YOU PERVERT!" shrieked a highly hysterical Christopher Hitchcock. 

    David mumbled something irritably, shoving the blankets over his head again and burrowing comfortably. Christopher glared spitefully at him, tugging at a sheet to wrap around his waist as he stood again. 

    "David! David, you stupid jackass, that's my bed! Mine! My blankets, my sheets, my--_my_ pillow you're hugging, _goddammit_--" 

    Christopher gritted his teeth, reaching out and shoving the boy reluctantly. The warm flesh tingled at his fingertips, and he scowled some more. There was no reaction from the slumbering youth. 

    "Bastard," the blonde growled, panic crawling up his chest still. "I bet you weren't even a good lay-I mean, NO! No, I didn't lay you, or anyone like you, or any… I mean… damn it. I'm screwed. This is bad. Okay, okay, get out." 

    No response. Christopher smacked his head. 

    "OUT, you miserable freak! There's the door-time to exit! Exit as in_ leave_ and take your sorry ass with you!" 

    David growled something in his sleep, waving his batting hand away and huddling deeper in the covers. 

    Christopher felt like crying. Instead, he just took a few deep breaths, wished for some more alcohol despite his hangover, and decided to think things through a bit. 

    Okay, time to take new stock of the situation: Not Very Damn Good. 

    First, he was naked. In a bed. With David 'I'm As Straight As Christopher Is' Levin. Who may or may not have been naked, and no, Christopher wasn't about to check. Either way, those blankets were getting washed as soon as possible. And he took it back about the sex feeling-he didn't feel like he'd had sex at all. It was just his imagination. He wasn't feeling any sort of pleasurable satisfaction that came from a long night of getting it on like wild rabbits; no, more of a dull sort of horror and fascination that resulted out of staring at the innards of a dissected frog in Biology class. 

    Honestly. And that had to be that. 

    "General," Christopher started to call loudly. He stopped. Frowning worriedly, he sat down gingerly on the bed as though it would bite him. Surely he couldn't wake David up in this condition. Who knows what would happen? And he couldn't remember what happened last night. What if David did, and it wasn't good? What _did_ happen last night? What the hell was going on here?! 

    David slept on, oblivious, and now definitely starting to snuffle happily in his dreams. Christopher spared him a glower of discontent before turning back to his unhappy thoughts. 

    _'Okay. So you woke up, albeit naked, with David. That doesn't have to mean anything. You could've slept walked and took off your clothes in the middle of the night. And carried him to your bed, thinking he was… Etain. A slightly heavier, yet still pretty short and light, Etain. Or maybe a Nicole Kidman. He has the lips for it. No! We don't use Nicole Kidman and David's lips in the same sentence, damn it! Damn it, Chris, bad thoughts! Bad!'_ He banged his head on his hands a few times. _'Okay. Calm down. He's in your bed, still asleep, and judging from the amount of alcohol we probably had, will be knocked out for a while. He's a light drinker. We've got until after noon probably. All you have to do is figure out what happened exactly.'_

    Okay. Yeah, that was a good plan. Christopher let out a long breath. 

    Once he figured out exactly what happened, he could make a game plan. Something like running for the nearest bordering land, or hiding forever in Hetwan territory. All he had to do was turn into a bug. He could do that, if needs be. 

    Someone had to know what happened. At least, know more than he did. And there was no way in hell he'd stick around to ask David when he woke up. 

    So, throwing on the nearest clothing and taking another quick look to make sure Sleeping Prince wasn't about to wake up and slice his ass with Galahad's sword, Christopher made a quick exit. 

    Time to go see April. 

_ ~~~~~ _

Rule 4: Remember that breakfast in bed is always a thoughtful gesture. 

You didn't leave them to wake up alone, did you? 

~~~~~ 

End of Part One: In the upcoming part, Christopher seeks out numerous accounts on what exactly happened last night, David wakes up with a massive feckin' hangover... and Jalil gets to look cute and have immortal hotties pet his hair. XD Whee~! Happy late birthday, Miss Duck-K~! 

And now, I'd like to ask everyone a special favor. Please, _please_ take a moment and protest against the Marriage Protection Act. All you have to do is sign this petition at the following address: (and delete the spaces I had to put in there) 

http:// www.hrc.org/ millionformarriage/ index.asp 

Or write to your congressmen at this address: 

http:// www.hrcactioncenter.org/ actioncenter/ lobby_marriage.html#three 

It's never too late to speak out. I'm sure many of you know about it, and what's going on right now. And I know its a shameless plug and stupid of me to ask this of people I don't know, but consider it your own birthday gift to Miss Duck-K, who's as frustrated as I am with all the bigotry in the world. ^_^ Pretty please? With a Jalil in Leather on top? If I get enough emails telling me you did it, I'll write more "Caution: Falling!" Well, I am anyway. But I'll do it faster. *heart* 

Thanks for reading! See you soon!


	2. In Which Confusion Runs Rampant

_The First Rule of One Night Stands_

By Kay 

Disclaimer: See chapter one. See chapter one rip away any rights I had to Everworld. Rip away, Everworld, rip away. 

Author's Notes: ^_^ YAY! Second part is up! Happy late birthday to Miss Duck-K, as usual! And a giant thanks to all those who left reviews/petitioned at the link. I can't tell you how much I love you all at this moment. 

In this part, we see an OC character show up… and before anyone says anything, he's not a-- a Mary Sue, is that it? *sweat drops* I don't know how that works. But I needed someone to court Jalil, and I've run out of sexy characters that would be plausible. He IS an actual Welsh god, and I've taken liberties with his character but he overall has the same traits. According to various websites. ^^;; 

Please enjoy! And remember: Every time someone screws David, an angel gets its wings. 

This is also getting so OOC that it's not funny. 

~~~~~ 

_ Rule 5: Don't forget to be gentle and speak respectfully about your bed partner. _

Talk about them like you want to be talked about. 

Do not use the phrase 'slut.' 

~~~~~ 

    "April! April, open the door! It's Christopher!" he howled, banging his fist against the door frame. "I know you're in there!" 

    There was a loud grunt within, followed by a feeble cry of, "Go away… ungh…" 

    It might have occurred to Christopher-- had he not had problems of his own to worry about-- that his friend probably had a larger hangover than _he_ did, and therefore would _not_ be happy with his early morning visit. Might have occurred. Because it didn't. The thought never crossed his mind. 

    This is one of the reasons male spiders sometimes get their heads ripped off by the female mates. 

    As it was, he was lucky he was human. It would've sucked to lose a head. Instead, after a few muted curses and stumbling in the bedroom, Christopher heard April finally get to her feet and jerk open the door. He blinked at her for a moment. 

    "What the hell do you want, Christopher?!" 

    It wasn't a pretty sight. He winced in slight sympathy, avoiding the bloodshot green eyes that were narrowed at him in vicious fury. Her red hair, usually pretty and curly, was a tangled and snarled mess sleeping on her head. There was an indention in her left cheek-- most likely from passing out on a table corner; Christopher would know-- and the tic in her right eye was promising painful death. 

    After this, he decided that flirting with April was a scary idea. 

    "Um… sorry," the blonde offered reluctantly, looking everywhere but at her. "I just-- I kind of need your help…" 

    "Let Etain drown this time," April snarled. 

    "Um. It's not that." 

    "So let her throw herself off the towers." 

    "No, she's not--" 

    "Let her impale her pretty throat with a fork, for god's sake, I don't _care!"_

    "Not that either," Christopher said hesitantly. Although, he had to admit, she might if she knew what happened last night between him and David. Rather, what didn't happen. Because nothing did happen. Honestly. 

    He scowled to himself. 

    "Christopher, I'm not in the mood to play twenty questions!" snapped the irate redhead, throwing up her hands. "Just tell me what you want, and let me go back to bed so I can be miserable in peace. Okay?" 

    Christopher nodded hurriedly, licking his dry lips in a nervous fashion. "Um. Yeah, okay. Sure. See, it's just…" 

    _'Just what?! I may have slept with the General, and can't remember a damn thing about it?! Oh God.'_

     "It's just… what happened last night?" he finally asked lamely. 

    April stared at him. 

    "I mean, sorry, I can remember some of it," he went on quickly, panicking at the slowly growing rage on her face. "But most of it's blank, and I may have done something really stupid and horrible, but I need to know first before I make any decisions, and I thought he was a goddess when I woke up, but I didn't really mean to--" 

    "Christopher," she said warily. 

    "Y-yeah?" 

    "Shut the hell up and get inside." 

    "… okay." So he followed her inside her bedroom, sparing a brief glance for the interior decorations that seemed a lot nicer than his own. He would have spared a glance for her pale legs, but honestly, there were bigger fish to fry. Like making sure he never looked at the General's legs. 

    _'I bet they were nice.' _

    'Shut the fuck up, Hitchcock.' 

    "So what's going on now?" April asked tiredly, sitting down on her bed. She slumped back, ragged and exhausted. "I only caught a little of that." 

    Christopher fidgeted for a moment, wondering if he was supposed to sit next to her, or if he wanted to be out of biting range. In the end, he perched delicately on the very end of the bed. "Um. Well, I have a problem." 

    "About last night?" 

    "About David." 

    "Ah," she said knowingly. A twinkle of amusement entered her eye. "About _David_. I see now." 

    "You do?!" demanded Christopher desperately. He leaned forward, blue eyes pleading. "You mean… I really… I didn't…" 

    She patted his shoulder. He tried not to flinch away. 

    "Hey, don't worry about it. It happens, you know? One minute, you're blissfully ignorant about your true feelings, the next you've suddenly had the curtain ripped out from over your eyes." She paused, ignoring the widening eyes and horror blooming over Christopher's face. "Well, a metaphorical curtain, I mean. And not those transparent shower ones, an actual drapery would work better…" 

    "True feelings?" Christopher asked in a strangled tone, terrified. 

    April yawned, closing her eyes and stretching slightly. "Well, I always thought you guys would make a great couple. Not just aesthetically, but in lots of ways. It was only a matter of time before you took things into your own hands…" 

    This penetrated the blonde's brain harshly, and before he could stop the words, they spilled from his mouth. "Into _my_ hands?! I started it?!" 

    "Well, yeah. That's how it looked." 

    "No way. No freakin' way. It had to be his fault, not mine!" The panic wound tighter around Christopher's heart and he jumped to his feet. "He coerced me, damn it! He had to have done it… messing with my mind, or maybe he just…" 

    "Christopher, do you really think David's that kind of guy?" 

    "Maybe he's a slut underneath all that macho crap," the blonde replied petulantly. 

    April glared at him. "Just for that? You were the initiator anyway, why is he the slut? You're the one who asked him to--" 

    "Shut up!" wailed Christopher, slapping hands over his ears. "Oh God, I can't believe this. That controlling bastard tricked me into it, I can't have actually started the entire thing. I'm Christopher Hitchcock! I'm straight! I'm a perfectly boring heterosexual with no longing to experiment in the affairs of the same sex!" 

    "That's what they all say," April muttered knowingly. "And the next thing they know, they're patting her back and telling her to forget men, and then wondering if elf princesses are pale everywhere on their body, if only she wasn't so stupid and flighty--" 

    "Wait. What?!" 

    "Nothing," his friend interrupted hastily, her cheeks coloring bright red. "Forget it. All I'm saying is that you shouldn't be mad with David." 

    "But he's a rapist!" 

    "… that makes absolutely no sense, Christopher." 

    But it did to him. The blonde leapt to his feet, his features set in a determined and still slightly horrified fashion. The grim upset that was so clear on his face made April pause, and she hesitated before asking, "Christopher, are we talking about the same thing…?" 

    "I've got to get out of here," Christopher muttered, ignoring her. He ran a hand through his golden hair, throwing the mop into disarray as he glanced around warily. "I-I don't know what… I don't know what I'll do yet. What should I do? What _can_ I do? I could always say I was too drunk, and he looked like Etain, but then--" 

    "Christopher?" April interrupted, looking at him oddly. He blinked at her for a moment. 

    He could always ask her for advise, he realized with a pain of longing. She was a woman; she knew about sensitivity and the _good_ way of doing things. Even if she couldn't comfort him entirely after this matter, she could at least guide him in the right direction. Because this entire morning had been a bundle of chaos, and Christopher really didn't know what to do now. 

    On one hand, it was becoming plainly obvious what had happened last night. Christopher wasn't sure why it looked like he had instigated what had occurred-- because it couldn't be him, it had to have been David, because he'd always wondered about that guy-- but there were some things that were clear. And they were things he stuck to very tightly, as nothing else made sense. 

    For one, he and David… may have… well, most likely… had sex. 

    Christopher made an injured, snuffling sound, and April raised her eyebrows at him. He paid no attention, too caught up in his whirling thoughts as he tried to sort them all out. 

    Two: David was still sleeping in his bed. Probably naked. Probably about to wake up and freak out, if he remembered the night better than Christopher did. If he didn't, then there would be a lot of confusion. And what would he tell him, Christopher wondered in dawning realization, if David didn't remember? Could he lie about it? Should he? 

    Would he even be able to? 

    _'Maybe not,'_ he admitted to himself, disappointed. _ 'It feels really… ugly. To lie about that sort of thing. But what am I supposed to do now?'_

    He could always ask April. April, who knew about things like love and mistakes and forgiveness, who could point him in the right way to go. But she was also a girl. Girls didn't really _get_ some things. Not to mention, judging from her earlier speech, she wouldn't exactly be _opposed_ to sitting in a plastic, tackily green lawn chair in his bedroom and watching them slick down in chocolate body paint to get it on. 

    He was going to ignore that image. Honestly. 

    Either way, Christopher realized with a surge of disappointment, he couldn't ask her. She would either ridicule him more or ask to buy tickets for the show. 

    "Christopher, are you just going to stand there and stare off into space all day?" said-female snapped, her look much more annoyed now. "I'm tired, achy, and I have a headache the size of Madagascar. Is there anything else you want to know? If not-- just leave. And shut the door behind you." 

    "No. No, nothing." He sighed, running a haphazard hand through his locks again. "Thanks for your help." 

    "Sure." She smiled tiredly at him. "Anytime." 

    Christopher shut the door behind him. He sighed. Leaning back against the wood until his head thumped on the frame, the blonde narrowed his eyes at the ceiling. There was a loss in his plans now, a blank question in his mind: 

    What did he do _now?_

    The answer hit him with the speed of a rampaging rhinoceros on Speed. 

    "Of course!" Christopher whispered under his breath, expression brightening. Who else knew stuff about logic? And good, common sense? And answers to impossible solutions? And was also male, selfish, and incredibly ruthless even when he wasn't really trying to be? 

    His resolve strengthened, Christopher set off to find Jalil Sherman. 

_ ~~~~~ _

Rule 6: Always make sure your bed partner is comfortable with the arrangements. 

Confusion may lead to paranoid delusions. Or something. 

Like kilts. 

~~~~~ 

    When David was seven years old, he swam into a boat. 

    This wasn't as inane or ridiculous as it sounded; he knew because he'd checked websites years later to confirm he wasn't just stupid. In fact, it was most likely the boat's fault because it was parked on private property. Their family's lot on the lake. Dad's favorite spot for fishing. He'd been swimming that day, treading the blue-green lake water and yelling at his father to look at him every time he did a dive. He was trying to convince him that he was old enough not to wear a lifejacket. (This tactic never worked, but it was worth it to hear another "glory" story about the Navy and how, "Lifejackets have saved me millions of times when I was in the heat of danger!") 

    So he'd just been swimming along, head shoved under the water for a moment-- when _WHAM._

    Hello, Mr. Boat. Goodbye, Mr. Conscious. 

    Later, Mom told him a passing speedboat had stopped just long enough to wave at his father on the shore-- and he'd run straight into its side. David had always been a good swimmer. Fast as his father. Able to go _so_ fast that when he _did_ hit the boat, he'd been knocked out immediately. (At least, this was how he comforted himself.) 

    He remembered the sensation of sharp pain… and then a thick, sinking feeling deep within his bones. And blackness. 

    When he next opened his eyes, David was miserable. He'd swallowed enough water to make him ill for a week or so, not to mention the dreadful aching in his head. He'd almost drowned, Dad said, and would've if it wasn't for the speedboat man's quick reflexes. As it was, it was the sickest and most painful experience in David's memories… at least, the ones connected with safe things. 

    _'I thought I'd never feel worse…'_

    The General groaned and buried his head under a pillow. 

    _'I was wrong.'_

    It was Hell. Hell in all senses of the word, worse than Hades lair and the Underworld itself, so miserably painful and sickening… this, this-- this goddamned feeling of _nausea_! Like his head was messed up, the light piercing his eyes so sharply that it felt like even the bedroom's dim light was blinding him, and the sheets were no comfort to his aching stomach-- 

    _'Wait. Bedroom?'_

    David snuffled miserably into what he presumed was a pillow. Awakening had been like a slam in the face. Some idiot had turned the blinds open, and he suspected the same idiot was the one who smacked him in the head repeatedly. Forty times. With a baseball bat. Or maybe a bus. Either way, he wasn't going to be moving anytime soon unless someone had a wheelbarrow handy. 

    He paused and considered his situation. 

    Usually it wouldn't be abnormal, despite the feelings of pain and suffering and ultimate misery coursing through his body. Except there were… things. Things like the window's light coming from the opposite side of his old bedroom. And how the sheets didn't smell quite like his. In fact, they were resembling more of an alcohol scent right now. And it wasn't as drafty as his usual room. More blankets. 

    Not to mention, when he opened his eyes, it was _not_ his bedroom. 

    _'Oh. Shit.'_

    David took a deep breath, peering through a crack in his eyelids at the room carefully. Okay, definitely not his. For one, his sword was missing from the place he laid it-- on a rack nailed to the wall. There wasn't even a rack, actually. And the furniture was different. And all of his notes and battle maps were gone. And Christopher's dirty clothes were draped over the chair-- 

    "Holy _FUCK!"_

    The answer smacked David Levin's already aching head. He gaped openly at the room's ceiling, horror and confusion brimming in with his pain. 

    He was in Christopher Hitchcock's bed. With a hangover. Oh, and his sword was gone, that was the most important thing. Well, almost. Maybe the fact that he was in _Christopher's_ freakin' _bed_ was a _little_ more significant at the moment. Just a bit. 

    David whimpered and buried his head in the covers again. 

    Further examination revealed no memories of the night before, beyond a squabble with some minor Celt god. There were flashes of things involving alcohol and an argument over sword techniques, as well as a spinning ballroom, but that was all that remained in his fragmented mind. David suppressed a groan of despair. After that, he thought better of it and decided to groan anyway. He _deserved_ a little angsting after last night. 

    But there was still the question of exactly _why_ he was in Christopher's bed. Not to mention, wrapped up in blankets and toting a hangover the size of Madagascar. The blonde was nowhere in sight, either, taking away any hopes that the mystery could be solved immediately. 

    _'I'm going to kill him. I'm going to kill him, and anyone who ever wanted to be him, and then I'm going to kill myself. Ouch. Head. Pain.'_

    David whimpered once more. 

    _'Okay, there has to be a good explanation. There has to be. It's not like I'd just jump into Christopher's bed for the heck of it, after beating myself senseless with a random iron mace. Think, Levin, you're a General, so think! The party last night. You drank too much, it's a hangover, that has to be it, yeah, and then--'_

    And then what? He accidentally mistook Christopher's room for his own? Someone dragged him there without thinking? Maybe the blonde himself was responsible for this morning's confusion? The thought brought him back the more important questions involved in this entire situation. 

    Where was _Christopher?_

    David groaned, turned over again in bed, and froze. 

    Okay, there was a new development to consider. 

    _'Forget Christopher. Where is my_ shirt!?' 

    David threw back the covers, ignoring the twinge of pain in his head as he stared down in baffled anxiety at his body. 

    Waking up in Christopher's bed with a hangover was bad. Okay, he could deal with that, though. This was worse. This was much, much worse. This was worse than slamming into boats or facing dragons the size of Lady Liberty's left foot, even worse than the time David swallowed Pine Sol because he thought it was honey-lemonade mix left over from his Mom's state fair contest… and that had been really bad. 

    "My shirt. My pants. Where the hell are my _pants?!"_

    David whimpered and felt his headache growing, pounding at his skull as he stared down in fascinated horror at his legs. It couldn't be true. It was ridiculous. He didn't look good in these colors. Not at all. 

    Three things were very apparent to David Levin in that moment: 

    1.) Christopher Hitchcock had a lot of explaining (and possible dying) to do. 

    2.) He would never drink again. 

    3.) There'd _better_ be boxers under his newfound kilt. Or blood would be shed. 

_ ~~~~~ _

Rule 7: Do not brag to your friends about your adventures yet. 

They may have had some of their own. 

~~~~~ 

    It was damned ironic. 

    Which wasn't good. Christopher hated irony. Irony was stupid. It was evil. It liked to make life intensely difficult for him, doing the most twisted and paradoxical things possible to frustrate him. Things like how he always tried avoiding Jalil, but would continually run into him in the castle corridors (and, hence, was forced to listen to the scientist complain about "ancient superstitious freaks" arguing with his theories). And how now that he _needed_ to find Jalil, he couldn't find the damned boy _anywhere._

    He'd even tried the library. And it was painful. Christopher hated libraries almost as much as irony, and there weren't even naked pictures of cheerleaders to download to ease the sting. (This disappointment brought to mind an image of David Levin, wearing a skirt that looked entirely too much like a cheerleader's to be an accident. This fantasy was followed by the dull thudding of Christopher's head on a handy, nearby bookshelf.) Unfortunately, Jalil wasn't there either. No one had seen him since last night. 

    He was going to kill him. Find him, beg for advice, and then kill him. Messily. In a manner befitting his hangover pangs and the agony of David's sword being shoved straight through his neck when he admitted to sleeping with the guy-- 

    _'Which is not going to happen,'_ the blonde reminded himself firmly. _'We find Jalil first. Jalil will know what to say. Or do. Or where to run.'_

     So there he was, pacing along the third tower corridor, waiting for a miracle. If Christopher ever called Jalil a miracle. Usually he called him other things-- most of which were faintly unpleasant, and would never be uttered again if he actually showed up and helped Christopher solve this problem. 

    _'God, I hope David hasn't woken up yet. Wait. Correction; I hope he wasn't there to wake up at all, because it was all a hysterical hallucination from my overly hangover mind! But if he isn't, I hope he hasn't woken up yet. Or the hallucination hasn't. Not that he's real, but… no, if the hallucination, even then… I mean… aw, goddammit.'_

    He groaned and raked his hand through his hair. _'I'm so dead.'_

    Too busy thinking about the furious look on David's face when he woke up, Christopher didn't bother looking where he was pacing (with great angst. David would have been proud). 

    Not seeing where he was going, he didn't notice the blur that just scrambled up the stairs. 

    Not seeing the human-shaped blur, he wasn't prepared when it slammed right into him. The ship went down. The scales tipped over. The card house came crashing to the table surface. You know what I mean. 

    _THUD._

    "Fu--" 

    "Ouch!" 

    "--ck! Ow!" 

    Jalil let out a few more curses, frantically trying to shove Christopher off of him and throwing some very panicked glances at the doorway. Unfortunately for the scientist, however, Christopher had just realized who had slammed straight into him, and lit up like a Christmas tree in relief. Ignoring the frantic struggles of the youth, he grabbed Jalil's arm and pinned it down to the floor. 

    "Jalil! Man, I've been looking everywhere for you! Where the hell have you been?" 

    Jalil's dark eyes were wide with panic. "Get off me, you stupid moron! Get off! He's _coming!"_

    Christopher blinked down at him. "What?" 

    Someone else rushed in through the doorway and skidded to a halt. Both Christopher and Jalil jerked their heads and stared at him-- the blonde with shock and bemusement, the scientist with horror and a small tinge of fear. 

    The other man blinked at them. 

    He was… probably almost as attractive as Ganymede, if Christopher wasn't furiously telling himself that there was no way he'd notice. Pale skin and deep, intelligent blue eyes seemed bright in the darkness of the castle corridor, belonging to a face framed in dark brown curls. He was obviously a god, despite the plain tunic and garb he wore-- the strange height and calm expression were characteristic of that. And though his build was lithe, it radiated a strength that no one other than a deity could produce. 

    Jalil started digging his elbows into Christopher's stomach again, trying to get out from under him. 

    Christopher frowned absently at him, shoving him back against the stone floor and wall. He turned and looked at the god again. "Who the hell are you?" 

    Jalil groaned loudly. 

    The god frowned, tilting his head thoughtfully. When he spoke, his voice was soothing and almost melodic. Like a song. Or something pretty sounding. Except it was deeper and more firm that most songs would sound. 

    "I believe, mortal, there is a question of more importance." 

    "Oh yeah?" 

    "Yes." The god affirmed sagely. "What are you doing to my _cariadus?"_

    Christopher stared. 

    Jalil started growling dangerously. 

    "To your _what_? Your… cards? Huh?" 

    The god sighed, mostly in a manner that implied that Christopher was an idiot. "My _cariadus_. While I understand that he is, indeed, a precious and rare treasure, to be so vulgar as to attack him in the corridors of your lord's castle… it is obscene. I would hope that you would keep your attentions to yourself in the future, not push them upon my vulnerable _enaid_--" 

    "He is _not_ attacking me," Jalil interrupted hotly, a dark flush of anger spreading across his mocha skin. He slugged the blonde on him with one hand, shoving Christopher to a crashing heap on the ground next to him, and sat up. "And I'm _not_ your… whatever Welsh term you keep using. And who the hell are you calling vulnerable?!" 

    The god smiled gently. "Yes, forgive me. You are, indeed, too strong in spirit and mind to be vulnerable, _mindlws_, as you have shown me. I merely refer to your delicate mortal state; humans are so fragile, you see…" 

    "One more word, Taliesin, and I swear…" Jalil growled threateningly, standing up and offering Christopher a hand (which the blonde glared at, and would have bit, had he not worried about being punched again). "Don't you have something better to do?" 

    Taliesin blinked. "Something better than spending time with my beloved?" 

    Jalil narrowed his eyes. 

    "Look," Christopher finally said, interrupting the rising tension-- or rather, the tension rising from Jalil, who seemed to be growing more flushed and furious by the second, "I don't know what the hell's going on here, but I need to talk to Jalil. So… whoever you are, buddy? You can scram. Like now." 

    The god turned to frown at him. "I don't like you." 

    Jalil snorted, and Christopher rolled his eyes. "That's great, man. I don't like you, either, for the record. So why don't you scurry off and do your… your god things. Whatever. Shoo." 

    "Mortal," said the god forebodingly, seeming to grow slightly. "I would warn you not to dismiss me so lightly in front of--" 

    "Taliesin," Jalil said in exasperation. "He's not interested in me. Christopher already has someone." 

    "He does?" The swelling of growth diminished, and Taliesin beamed. 

    "I do?" Christopher echoed. 

    "Yes," the scientist affirmed, shooting a dark look at Christopher. "He's madly in love with someone else. Uh, a tragic unrequited kind of love. You know… can't get the girl and all that. He hates me, as a matter of fact. So… no worries, okay?" 

    "Oh." Taliesin paused to ponder this. "Very well. Though it pains my heart to leave you, my _dewisegig_, I shall leave you to this urgent business. I understand that your aid is needed by the simple folk of this realm." 

    Christopher was about to protest about the entire "simple folk" thing, but Jalil stomped viciously on his foot. As the blonde was gritting his teeth and cursing under his breath in pain, his friend gave a false yet sweet smile to the god. "I promise not to be long, Taliesin. Wait for me in the dining halls, alright? I won't be long." 

    "Until then, my lord, dearest Jalil… I take my leave." The god gracefully bowed down, sweeping one hand in apologetic fashion. Jalil's smile seemed strained, but he allowed the tall deity to place a soft kiss on the knuckles of his hand. This ritual was endured, but Christopher was almost certain that it wasn't exactly welcome. The fact that Jalil seemed to be twitching and grimacing when Taliesin wasn't looking may have been good evidence of that. 

    "Farewell, my _glendid_! My _mindlws_! I await your return!" 

    They watched him exit the door. 

    There was an awkward, perplexed silence. 

    "Dude, I think he's in love with you," Christopher suddenly remarked. 

    Jalil, who was furiously wiping his hand off on a nearby tapestry (that looked rather expensive, and now rather wrinkled), whirled around to glare at him. "You _think_, Christopher?! Jesus christ, and they wonder why I'm the one who's supposedly the genius! Oh, and thanks for pinning me to the goddamn floor and making me endure that horrible nightmare. I really appreciate it." 

    Christopher set his jaw, indignant anger rising. "You know what? Screw your sarcasm and holier-than-thou shit, man. I don't need this from you. I've had a really messed up day, and the last thing I need is you heaving _your_ troubles on _me."_

    "_You've_ had a messed up day!? Do you know what I've been doing all morning?!" shrieked Jalil, who now seemed definitely panicked. "I've been running! It's like he's fucking everywhere, anytime I turn around! He just won't leave me alone, and even when he does, he catches me later. It's like having a watchdog… a big, hulking mass of power kind of watchdog. Who sings. _Constantly."_

    He wasn't going to blow up. Honestly. There were other things he needed first, other questions to ask. Christopher kept telling himself this in order to stop his hands from reaching out and strangling his ally. After counting to ten, and then thirty-three because ten wasn't far enough, he forced out, "You're not making any sense. Calm down. He's gone, okay? Now what the hell's going on here?" 

    _'I never thought I'd say those words to Jalil: you're not making any sense,'_ he thought ruefully, watching the scientist slump slowly down onto the floor, rubbing his eyes in a tired and pained gesture. _'Then again, I never imagined waking up this morning with David Levin, either.'_

    Strangely enough, the thought brought a slight smile to his face. 

    "Sorry," Jalil interrupted his thoughts, sounding very weary. "I didn't mean to attack you like that. It's just been a long few hours, you know?" 

    "I know exactly what you mean," Christopher answered dryly. He walked over and sat next Jalil, leaning against the granite stones of the wall. "It feels like the entire world's been turned upside down today." 

    Jalil flashed him a soft smile. "W.T.E., right?" 

    "Hell, I guess." They both laughed. 

    "So," Christopher started once their chuckles had died away, "who was that guy? Tally or whatever? The god?" 

    "Taliesin," the dark-skinned boy commented with a rueful sigh. "Remember that Welsh god I told you about last night? The one who wanted to see the library?" 

    Christopher didn't remember, but he nodded hesitantly. 

    "Well, you were half right. Wasn't a good idea to show him. I mean, at first everything's moving along satisfactory, right? He's a Welsh bard, see. This scary goddess made a potion to make her son infinitely knowledgeable and wise, but the boy who stirred the mixture accidentally drank the effects. She chased him down and ate him." 

    Christopher blinked. "… harsh." 

    "Yeah." Jalil grinned a little. "But she gave birth to him a while later, and he came out as Taliesin. A singer and poet of great knowledge and wisdom. From what I heard, he's been telling stories since birth… literally." 

    "Jealous?" 

    Jalil laughed, his expression clearing of the weariness for a moment. "My parents would have loved_ that_. But anyway… Taliesin really loves books. He spent the entire night pouring through the library, asking me for my opinions on the different material, begging for stories from the Real World… you know. We kept going even after the candles burnt out, just… sat there. Talking to each other. He told me about his past, about his foster family and their adventures. I told him about home. About the inventions in our world. It just went on for hours, almost until dawn, until I fell asleep in one of the chairs." A funny expression crossed Jalil's features, hesitant and almost wistful. "I haven't gotten to talk to someone like that for a long time. Not like that." 

    The silence fell like a curtain around them, soft and unsure. Christopher stared at Jalil, the almost hidden sadness on his face. For a second, the blonde forgot about his own day. It was a rare thing to see their resident scientist look so forlorn. 

    "So… it sounds like you guys had fun," he finally said lamely. "What was the problem?" 

    Jalil had dark skin, almost a mix of hot cocoa and mocha in colour on most of his days. But when he blushed, it almost blackened to the hue of ash and soot. 

    "The problem?" he echoed, only sounding slightly strangled. "The problem? The _problem_ was that, when I woke up in the library the next morning, I had a crick in my neck and Taliesin was stroking my hair. My _hair_, Christopher! Like I was a fucking pet or something!" 

    Christopher muffled his bark of laughter with a loud cough. 

    "He actually smiled at me," Jalil continued heatedly, anger growing in his eyes again. "And then he told me he loved me! And expected me to, I don't know… answer or something! I mean, that wasn't so bad, but he's been following me all morning, trying to propose and sing ballads of his supposed 'love' for me. What the _hell_ am I supposed to do? I told him no, but he keeps coming back!" 

    "Maybe he just likes your hair," Christopher answered mildly. 

    Jalil threw a glare at him. "Fuck you, Hitchcock." 

    "Well, it _is_ nice. Getting longer, too. Maybe you should cut it and people won't think you look like a girl--" 

    "Maybe _you_ should join the eunuchs." 

    "… bastard." 

    The dark-eyed boy smirked. "I never denied it." 

    Christopher huffed a bit, leaning back against the wall and eyeing his friend with reluctant admiration. "You're taking this entire Tally-god thing pretty well. I probably would have been hiding in the cellars by now." 

    Jalil hesitated. "I… tried there. Didn't work. He started singing about true love finding its way through winding caverns and the darkest shadows." 

    "Oookay. You need to ditch this guy, man." 

    "Don't I know it." Heaving a sigh, he leaned forward on his elbows. Then, with a sideways glance that reminded Christopher too much of a salamander or something about to swallow its prey, he remarked, "By the way, is there a reason you're being so friendly with me, or is this another one of those Upside Down World Day things?" 

    _'Urk.' _

    Suddenly reminded of the reason _why_ he was chatting it up with Jalil in some random hallway, Christopher blushed slightly. "Um. Yeah. Kind of. But I don't know if you can help me now… I mean, it's about the party last night, and you were kind of somewhere else, if you know what I mean…" 

    "Is this about David and you?" 

    Christopher choked on the breath he was about to take. 

    "Jesus-- how did _you_ know?!" 

    Jalil rolled his dark brown eyes, giving the blonde a slight jab in the ribs with his slender fingers. "Oh, please. Everyone knows." 

    "_Everyone_?!" Christopher's mind screeched to a halt. 

    "Everyone," replied Jalil indifferently. "Don't you remember?" 

    "… not, not really," the blonde said weakly. He clutched the wall and felt the cool stone against the sudden, heated flush of his body. This was bad. Very bad. "How did you find out? Who told you?" 

    "No one had to tell me," Jalil said sourly, flicking an imaginary piece of lint off of his sweater. He looked much more relaxed now that he wasn't thinking about his own bad-- or good-- time last night. "Taliesin and I could hear you all the way in the library." 

    Once again, his brain fizzled out and died. 

    "Y-you h-h-heard…?" 

    "Quite well. Unfortunately." The scientist winced. "You guys weren't exactly discreet, you know. And loud. Very loud. I'd be surprised if the entire castle didn't hear you guys going at it. And trust me, that's not the image I really wanted in my mind, thank you very much." 

    Christopher's entire mind was going numb. Blank. There was nothing. Nothing except a huge, gaping hole of failure and damnation and oh god, what had he done? What had _they_ done? Besides the obvious. And very loudly. Oh god. He was dead. So dead. How could he face any of the people here? Or Etain? Or anyone else? Or-- 

    How could he face David? 

    Jalil sighed as the blonde buried his face in his hands, whimpering in mortification and anguish. Almost caringly, he reached over and patted Christopher's back, the gesture an awkwardly sincere thing that was hardly characteristic of him. "Hey, hey. Look, don't worry about it. It wasn't that bad. I mean, Etain was pretty upset, but April managed to talk her out of ritualistic suicide by dawn, and most of the people there were too drunk to notice. Well, not too much, at least." 

    "I'm… going to die," Christopher whispered, his voice muffled. "I'm so dead." 

    "Probably. If David doesn't do it, Etain might. But really, try not to think about it too much. At least you had a good time, by the sound of it. Hold onto that and screw what everyone else thinks." 

    Christopher groaned lowly. He took it back; Jalil's advice was terrible. 

    Still, he had to try one more time. "What do I do now?" he asked miserably. "David's going to be up and around anytime now. What do I say to him? What the hell am I supposed to do _now?"_

    Jalil bit his lip pensively, gazing down at the blonde halo of hair that was still buried in his friend's knees. "Well… I suppose you'll just have to suck it up and apologize. I mean, David might not even be too mad. I don't know who's idea it was--" 

    "Apparently mine." 

    "Well, then you're screwed. Apologize if David's mad and move on with life. Start looking at him in a new perspective and see if it offers anything. You know? Obviously you can't just ignore this." 

    "I wish I could," Christopher muttered, but his heart wasn't into it. He heaved a mental sigh and sat up again. "Okay. Okay, I can do this. It's not the end of the world." 

    "Hardly," Jalil said dryly. "At least David doesn't stalk you and sing random love poetry." 

    "Yeah, and he's cuter." 

    The words flew out of his mouth before he could stop them. Christopher turned bright red and clamped a hand over his lips. _'Oh god. I didn't just say that.'_

    But Jalil only laughed and stood up, brushing his knees off carefully. "Just think about it. Sometimes the easiest way to get over something is to meet it head on-- and then learn to accept it." 

    "Take your own advice," Christopher murmured darkly, but his thoughts were a million miles away. He watched Jalil start off down the hallway and broke those thoughts for only an instant to yell, "Hey! The dining halls are the other way! Your lover boy's waiting!" 

    "Fuck _off_, Hitchcock! Better yet, get back in your kilt!" 

    "Thanks for the advice!" the blonde called, and was answered with a one-fingered salute and an amused chuckle. 

    Despite the fact that he was now in trouble, Christopher watched Jalil storm off with a grin and a slightly lighter heart than before. Somehow, talking to him and realizing that their tenous relationship hadn't changed whatsoever-- they still couldn't stop fighting every five minutes-- made things seem more normal than they had all morning. 

    Though he didn't understand the thing about the kilts. Then again, Jalil had always been obscure and weird about some things. 

_ ~~~~~ _

Rule # 8: It's probably a good idea to get more details on your supposed lover. 

It's also best if you don't make assumptions. 

~~~~~ 

Whew. Done. Happy Late Birthday, Miss Andrea! Sorry it took so long. And sorry for how OOC and pointess it was. I was tired. Things get written badly when I'm tired. They're written badly anyway, but oh well. 

Next Part: More kilt-age, Christopher angsts about what to do, revelations ensue, and Tally-god lends a hand in the chaos. 

^^;; Love y'all. Please review? I get more scared that the fandom is dying for everyday I don't see anymore of it... what happened to everyone? 

That's it. I all challenge you! *waves hands wildly* Someone write some EW slash and NOW. No matter the pairing, no matter the rating or content or length, no matter as long as it's EW slash, write it. Post it. As a reward, the top winner will get a fanfic by me, any pairing and any rating, whatever scene you want, ect, though I'm not sure how much a reward that is. Terms? You have to post it here or on a website somewhere. It's EW slash. That's it. 

Happy writing, folks. *is desperate* Please, because the EW fandom needs a boost! 

~~~~~ 


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